Look What I Did to My Id
by Ksiezniczka
Summary: Series of oneshots within the universe of "Wonderwall", "Through Glass", and "You May Be Right".
1. Bitchin' in the Kitchen

**Yeah, I know. The LAST thing I need to be doing is starting another story, especially one in the "Wonderwall" 'verse. To be fair, this isn't a multi-chapter format, though. Once I get more chapters up, you could read them in any order you want. I don't give a shit! This particular starter takes place after "Wonderwall", so, spoiler alert, Soundwave and his cassettes are living in the Ark, much to the chagrin of Red Alert. I never claimed my plot lines made any sense...**

**Just to remind you, as it's been a short while since I've done anything in this 'verse ("Through Glass" is giving me a hell and a half, and I admit I'm procrastinating "You May Be Right" as well...), this is the fourth fic in the saga, though some chapters may take place during or even before the other fics. The pairings explicitly stated in the various fics that will be written in this fic are StarscreamXBumblebee, SoundwaveXJazz, RatchetXTwins, and ThundercrackerXSkywarp. Skyfire and Starscream had a relationship in the past, and Prowl is in love with Jazz. Other implied relationships/crushes will come along as they come along. Got that?**

**I don't own "Transformers" or the song from which this collection of ficlets gets its title. Those honours fall to Hasbro and Richard O'Brien.**

oOo

_When Heaven's in the music_

_Hell is in control_

_The angels got the voices_

_But the devil's got the rock and roll_

oOo

"Primus damn it!"

Ratchet couldn't help but snicker as one of his extremely pissed-off mates burst into the ranking officer's breakroom, where he and Jazz were currently located.

"Sideswipe, you aren't supposed to be in here," the medic smirked good-naturedly. Really, he couldn't be bothered to care at the moment - Sideswipe had had this coming for a long time, and it was amusing.

"Where is he?" the red mech growled, more like his brother would than himself. "Where is that Unicron-spawned blue runt?"

"What'd he do?" Jazz piped up, curiosity getting the best of him.

"...I don't want to talk about it..." Sideswipe muttered. The prankster was quickly learning, since the cassettes' arrival after the big rescue, that being on the _recieving _end of a cruel prank was _extremely _unpleasant.

"Then get out of here and bother someone who cares," Ratchet grumbled, his red lover's jaw dropping in response.

"Ratch!" he sounded aghast and Ratchet had to do all in his power not to scoop up the Lamborghini right then and there in the breakroom - in front of Jazz, nonetheless!

"You heard me. It's called karma, Sideswipe. Get used to it. Anyway, how would Rumble be doing in here anyway? Only officers have the access code."

The red twin grumbled again, before abruptly turning and stalking off, in search of the blue cassette twin.

"Primus help me," the ambulance cycled extra air through his vents, somewhat the equivalent of a mechanical sigh. "One set of twins around here was more than enough!"

"At least now there's hope for 'em," Jazz shrugged his shoulders, then winced. "Kink in mah neck," he explained. "'samatter o' fact, I'm pretty sore ev'rywhere."

"Serves you right," the medic chuckled. "You're fraggin' insatiable. And loud when you overload - have some respect for your neighbours!"

"You chose the room across from mine, Ratch. An' Sounds an' I are just makin' up fo' lost time."

"Right..." Ratchet smirked at his friend, who grinned right back. Jazz knew he was only teasing. "Speaking of twins, how did Rumble and Frenzy survive? In the early vorns in the war, most sets of twins were deactivated - we were all shocked when we found our resident hellions."

"Why're ya askin' me?"

"You were there, weren't you?"

The saboteur shifted uncomfortably, and Ratchet felt a twinge of guilt. He knew his old friend didn't like to be reminded.

"In case ya fo'got, Sounds an' I weren't exactly on friendly terms after... well, y'know..."

"Forget I asked. I was just curious."

"Nah, I'm fine." Jazz paused for a breem before stating, "From what little I saw, since the day they came online, Rumble an' Frenzy looked out fo' each other, an' if anyone had a problem wit' it, Sounds dealt wit' 'em. It's how Mega-fragger noticed him so quickly... bloodthirsty scrap heap never valued the individual lives o' his underlings..."

"And you just ignored the fact that your ex-roommate wasn't much better?"

"I didn't ignore it! It really hurt ta see Sounds like that, killin' off any po' idiot who tried to break apart his family unit. I'll never forget the things I saw, but I understand what he was feelin'. He already lost one son. In that situation, would you be able ta stand the thought o' losin' two more?"

"_Slag_, you Autobots are sappy!" a third voice interrupted the conversation. "Makin' me wanna purge my intakes... no wonder Ravage didn't wanna come here..."

"You know, you _can _leave. Sideswipe isn't right outside waiting for you," Ratchet glared at Rumble. The blue tape regarded this for a minute, waved a hand at Jazz in some form of parting salute, and calmly sunk into a floor vent. The medic turned his glare to Jazz.

The Porsche tried to look as innocent as possible. "What?"

-_fin-_

**Jazz's past that he doesn't like to reminded of will be briefly touched on in "Through Glass", as well as future ficlets within this collection. I hope you enjoy all these short additions to the "Wonderwall" 'verse. Be sure to leave nice reviews!**


	2. Once in a While

**Oh, god, why did I say I would have this done by the end of the week? Guh.**

**This chapter centres around poor, poor Tracks, getting himself wasted as possible after the last chappie of "YMBR". Which, I guess, means it takes place during "Wonderwall", too - between chapters 6 and 8 maybe? It's been awhile since I've even looked at "Wonderwall".**

**Title and series not mine.**

oOo

In his eyes, it was unforgiveable. When Tracks had joined the Autobots on Earth, he had expected that he'd be the only one with any sense of class whatsoever. He hadn't been expecting any of them to be attractive. However, there was one mech who Tracks couldn't help but notice had a certain... _essence _about him. Not as attractive as the Firebird; far from it, even if Lamborghinis were generally seen as much more high-end. (Also more high-strung, he couldn't help but notice.) But Sunstreaker took good care of himself, and was one of the few on the Ark's crew that had good reason to.

It hadn't started out like this, Tracks mused as he glared down at his 3rd cube of high grade - he never thought he'd wish to be as much of a lush as Jazz, but right now he didn't really want to think about anything, especially not Sunstreaker. That didn't stop him from doing it.

It wasn't as if he could help it, even back then when he'd met the guy. Sunstreaker had a nasty personality, but with looks like that, why shouldn't he? Regardless of his renowned temper, he was the lay everybody wanted to have. At first, Tracks had been jealous. Then, he'd relished the challenge.

That's all Sunstreaker was supposed to be to him - a challenge. A rival befitting of someone as perfect as he. And that's how it had started; as a rivalry. Who was prettier? Who could get the most 'bots, and even, sometimes, 'cons? A subtle insult here, a playful jest there, some tussles that, annoyingly enough, left small scratches in their respective perfect paint jobs. Little challenges.

But then, it had gotten to the point where they had been the only two able to meet each other's standards when it came to touching up paint. The jibes, meant to be hurtful, gained an undertone of grudging and reluctant mutual respect. When it had happened, Tracks had no idea. But it had, and they had somehow become as close as friends as they were ever going to get.

There were boundaries, of course.

This was a not a fluffy, lovey, wimpy friendship. This was one that consisted of biting sarcasm and rude nicknames. What reason would they ever have to do otherwise, unless one of them was dying? Both of them understood that without it ever being said.

And then Sunstreaker had to go and ruin it all, with his shining gold metalflake, and his glowing, cerulean optics. The neat and perfect, striking lines that formed his frame. The graceful way he moved, whether he was beating a Decepticon to slag or just walking down the hall to go get some energon.

Feeling sick for thinking all of this, even now, Tracks took a big gulp and refilled his cube.

It was no surprise Sunstreaker was named as he was - he was like a streak of brilliance against an otherwise dull backdrop of dirt and ugly faces. His chosen deep shade of golden paint - for it was more a golden, sunshine-y yellow than a bright, crayola yellow - contrasted beautifully with the dark, midnight blue Tracks had chosen for himself. It would have gone so much better than with blinding white and garish orange-red of... of... of _him_!

Taking another large swig, Tracks didn't notice the mech that took a seat next to him.

"That isn't gonna do you any good."

The surprise of another's voice made the Firebird sputter and choke, ungracefully spraying the flourescent liquid all over himself. Wiping his red lips in disgust, Tracks sneered - a habit he'd probably picked up from the object of his affections. This thought disgusted him even more.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Blaster smiled sadly, and Tracks almost felt bad for sneering at his friend. The only one in the Ark who didn't know about Blaster's thing for Jazz was, well, Jazz. And it was common knowledge, despite both their vehement denial, that Jazz and Prowl were an item. They had to be; they were always together after all, and if one was in med-bay, the other was noticably stressed.

"High-grade?" Tracks offered.

"No thanks; I'd like to be able to walk tomorrow," the boom box declined. Tracks shrugged and looked away, and a few seconds later, Blaster decided, "Oh, what the hell? Pour me one, Tracks." After a few sips, Blaster asked, "So, what's got you down?"

"Nothing," Tracks spat defensively.

"Ah," the red mech nodded. "Sunstreaker, eh?"

"Oh, what do you know about it? He's perfect - and that makes him perfect for me!"

"He isn't perfect for you; he's perfect for Sideswipe, and you know it."

Tracks did know it, but he didn't like it. He hated the fact that Sideswipe had complete control over his brother. He didn't hate Sideswipe because the red Lamborghini was just oozing with charm, but he wasn't fond of the notion of Sideswipe being part of Sunstreaker.

"They're too different."

"You're being shallow. They're exactly the same if ya look."

"If you know so much, why haven't you bagged Jazz yet!?" Tracks growled. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear or see or think about anything anymore.

"Harsh," was all Blaster would say, good-natured grin fading from his features. The pair didn't say anything after that. They kept drinking, though, and Tracks, though not completely gone yet, was almost positive he wouldn't be able to walk if he tried.

Finally, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Blaster. That was uncalled for."

Blaster didn't say anything for a few breems, but then replied, "It's cool. I don't mind."

"Would you...?" Tracks started, but then shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?" the red mech wanted to know.

"Nothing, nothing. I was just going to ask if you'd like to help me back to my quarters?"

Another small, sad smile graced the boom box's rough features. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

Letting the other help him up, Tracks leaned on the red Autobot's frame, unable to support himself and not really caring to try. Softly - so softly, Blaster wasn't sure if he'd really heard it at all - the Firebird whispered, "Thank you, Blaster."

-_fin-_

**I actually think these two might be roommates or something, but maybe they aren't. Or maybe Tracks is too drunk to remember this. I dunno. Poor guy. And there's some foreshadowing in here for later chapters of "YMBR"!**

**I think I'll try something funny next chapter if I can, or maybe something with Bee, who I haven't given much love to lately. Or both. We'll see.**


End file.
